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chapter twelve

Providence Station

Transverse, non-congruent


“Thank you for agreeing to speak with us, Consul,” Isaac said as he took his seat at the table. He opened and arranged his virtual notes.

“It’s no trouble. I want the situation resolved as much as everyone else.” Peng’s avatar sat in his virtual chair at a slight angle, and his glowing eyes narrowed. “Though I’m surprised you asked to speak with me. Mind telling me what this is about?”

Isaac had expected a question of this nature, and he’d been considering how best to approach the situation during the short trip from the medical suite. He was a lowly detective with only half a year’s experience after graduating from the Academy. In contrast, Peng was a former commissioner with decades of distinguished service. That disparity rested heavily on his mind.

Peng has enough political muscle in his pinky to squish me like a bug, he thought. This interview must be handled delicately, but truthfully as well. No tricks. No pressure. Just the dry reality of the situation. Facts and the pursuit of truth are much easier to defend than opinions and accusations.

Isaac took a deep breath and met Peng’s gaze.

“Our interview with Csaba Shigeki brought to light a potential path of inquiry, and I thought it best to clarify the situation with you, both promptly and personally.”

“Oh, good grief! What sort of noise are they making about me this time?”

“‘This time,’ sir?”

“The Admin wasn’t happy with my appointment to CHRONO.” Peng rolled his eyes. “Then again, we weren’t exactly thrilled when Muntero was named to the other seat, so I suppose turnabout is fair play.”

“Was this level of friction unexpected?”

“Not really. I suppose you could say the complete opposite was true. My abstract nature and artificial origins are already two huge strikes against me, and my disdain for the Admin’s treatment of ACs isn’t exactly a mystery.”

“Then why were you appointed?”

“Because President Byakko needed someone who will keep an eye on these Gordian and DTI collaborations. Not just for show. Not just a body to warm the seat cushion so the people back home feel comfortable. But someone who will bring real skepticism, real scrutiny to the situation.

“We’ve already dodged two existential bullets. Barely. Both the Gordian Knot and the Dynasty Crisis came this close”—he held up a thumb and forefinger—“to wiping out our entire reality. And while the work Gordian Division and, to a lesser extent, the DTI are doing is both important and productive, it is also extremely dangerous. The people in these organizations have enough tech and know-how to rend entire universes apart. Someone needs to make sure they don’t step in it big time. The President thought I fitted that bill and approached me personally with her desire for me to take on the role. Truth is, I initially turned her down.”

“Why reject her offer at first?”

“I didn’t want to leave SysPol. It had been a part of my life for over fifty years.” He crossed a leg over his knee. “Are you aware of my service record or how I came to join SysPol?”

“I know you were the vice-commissioner of Hephaestus before being promoted to Arete commissioner. But beyond that, no, sir.”

“I’m originally from Uranus, actually.” He gave Isaac a thin smile. “Try not to hold it against me.”

“The thought would never occur to me, sir.”

“Heh. Sure it didn’t. Believe it or not, I was actually in a gang. A small but rowdy outfit of ACs called the D-Reavers. I was involved in a few kerfuffles here and there. Nothing major. Nothing that ever landed me in prison, but the local police knew me to be a troublemaker.

“All that ended when the D-Reavers were ‘absorbed’ by a competing gang. And by absorbed, I mean decimated and enslaved. Our connectomes were violated, copied, and sold to the highest bidder. There were twelve of me by the end, all toiling away in abstract sweatshops. That was my life for about seven years. No freedom. No choices. No aspirations or even hope. Just thankless labor without end, stretching out to infinity.

“Fortunately, all twelve of my instances were recovered thanks to Themis Division. They busted the slave ring, and I was presented with a choice of how to handle the violation of my mind. I elected to have my various selves reintegrated into a singular whole. Seven years became seventy, and I went into therapy after that.

“It took another three years and no less than fifteen connectome surgeries to sort through all the trauma in my head. I spent a lot of time wandering after that, flitting from one location to another, one job to another without any real direction or purpose to my life. Just existing, really, because what else was I supposed to do?

“That’s when I had a chance encounter with the SysPol detective who pulled me out of that hellhole. You ever hear of Matthew Graves?”

“I have, sir. Some of his cases are required study at the Academy.”

“The man lives up to his reputation. We spent the whole evening talking. Well, he talked. I spent most of my time ranting about all the crap life had thrown at me. And, to his credit, he listened to every word with the patience of a saint. We parted ways, and I didn’t think anything of it for a whole week. Not until I received a referral to attend SysPol Academy, courtesy of Graves. To this day, I don’t know why he did that. I even asked him about it a few years later. All he ever told me was he just had a good feeling about me.

“Getting in was still a problem. My criminal record, minor though it was, presented a challenge. But something made me push ahead. I even submitted to a copy dissection to speed the process along.”

Susan’s mouth parted, as if she were on the edge of asking a question.

“A copy dissection is a form of lie detector test,” Isaac explained. “An extremely invasive one.”

“Basically,” Peng said, “an interviewer asks you a bunch of questions before taking a copy of your connectome. A Themis specialist then dissects the connectome to determine if you were telling the truth. The procedure can’t be forced upon an individual under anything but the most extreme circumstances.”

“Ah. I see, sir.” Susan nodded to the consul. “Thank you for clarifying that.”

“Don’t mention it.” Peng draped an arm over the back of his chair. “Suffice it to say, Detective, I have my reasons for taking a dim view of the Admin and its treatment of AIs.”

“You mentioned turning down the President’s request initially. What made you change your mind?”

“Ah, yes. There was a reason I brought up Graves. He gave me a call after I turned down the offer. We had another one of our long talks. I won’t bore you with the details, but he’s the one who convinced me to join. After that call, I resigned my post from SysPol Arete”—he spread his palms—“and here I am.”

“How would you describe your working relationship with Csaba Shigeki?”

“About as good as you could expect. I don’t hold anything against him personally. He strikes me as a competent manager and someone who is genuinely interested in strengthening the ties between us. I just don’t like the outfit he serves.”

“And your relationship with Special Agent James Noxon?”

“Hardly know the man.”

“What about—”

“Look, Detective. Shall we cut to the chase?”

“Sir?”

“You’ve been pussyfooting around ever since you walked through that door. Something brought you here, and it wasn’t me mouthing off about the Admin’s many faults. So how about you stop wasting both of our times and get to the question you actually want to ask me?”

“Very well, sir. If you insist.” Isaac clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “Were you involved in the creation of an Arete Division plan to assault the Admin’s infostructure?”

Wh-what?! Where did you hear that? Even if such a plan existed, I seriously doubt you have sufficient clearance, and she”—he pointed at Susan—“most certainly doesn’t!”

“Sir, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Shigeki told us about it.”

“But . . . I mean . . . ” Peng shook his head, apparently in shock at the news. “How the hell?”

“Sir, did you create such a plan?”

“What does the Admin care?” Peng replied, recovering somewhat. “Look, all of a sudden we found ourselves faced with a belligerent, xenophobic, militaristic neighbor, and sure, we studied what would happen if a shooting war started. It’s not like we acted upon any of that!”

“The Admin’s interest in the matter,” Isaac replied, “stems from apparent similarities between the Arete plan and the recent spike in terrorism.”

“Preposterous! And you believe them?”

“Sir, I neither believe nor disbelieve it. We have merely been presented with a claim that must be proven either true or false. Which brings me to what I’m sure will be a very contentious request. May I have access to the Arete contingency plan to attack the Admin?”

“For what purpose?”

“To see if there is any correlation between that plan and the evidence gathered from the terror strikes.”

“We don’t go around targeting civilians!”

“I understand that, sir. Regardless, I feel it’s important that we in SysPol take the Admin’s concerns seriously. And that involves taking a hard look at all the evidence. All the evidence, sir.”

Peng drummed his fingers on the armrest. The room fell silent for long, uncomfortable seconds.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said at last.

“Thank you, sir.”

“However”—Peng leaned in, his eyes bright and fierce—“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“How so?”

“As much trouble as I cause, and as big as my mouth might be sometimes, at the end of the day I want the Providence Project to succeed. You can’t say that about everyone here. There’s at least one person on the station who would love to see us fail.”

“And who might that be?”

“My Admin counterpart.” Peng leaned back with a smirk. “Clara Muntero.”

* * *

“Do you get the impression we really shouldn’t be hearing this?” Susan asked in security chat, her voice carrying an edge of worry.

“Hearing what?” Isaac asked, leading the way to the CHRONO Operations exit.

“All this talk of secret government plans and high-level politics. You ever consider this one might be a bit over our heads?”

“Can’t be helped. We have a job to do.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Isaac.”

“I know.” He stopped in front of the grav shaft and gave her a somewhat-forced smile. “Look on the bright side. The worst someone like Peng can do is kick you out of the exchange program.”

“What about you?”

“Well . . . ” Isaac took on a thoughtful air. “He could destroy my career.”

“Not much of a bright side, then, is it?”

“Guess not. What’s your take on Muntero?”

“I’ve never personally interacted with her, but I know she’s got quite a reputation. Most DTI personnel aren’t big fans of hers.”

“Why’s that?”

“She’s a staunch Restrictionist. If we all followed that line of thinking, there wouldn’t be a Department of Temporal Investigation.”

“Wasn’t she appointed by Chief Executor Christopher First?”

“That’s right.”

“And didn’t he campaign as a reformer?”

“He did.”

“Then why’d he pick someone like Muntero for the CHRONO post?”

“Not sure, but I think it boils down to politics,” Susan said. “People really didn’t know what to make of SysGov when you guys made first contact, and some feel the Chief Executor’s been using SysGov as an excuse to push his reforms too hard and too fast. He brought several Restrictionists into his cabinet around that time.”

“To shore up his vulnerable flank?”

“Something like that.” Susan shrugged her shoulders. “Again, I’m just not sure. You’d be better off asking her yourself.”

“We may have to do that.”

“You buy into what Peng said about her? That she might be trying to undermine the Providence Project?”

“It’s not just what Peng said,” Isaac replied. “Shigeki made a similar comment, though not quite so forcefully. That’s two people who think Muntero doesn’t want the station—and the collaboration it represents—to succeed.”

“A motive,” Susan said darkly and under her breath.

“Perhaps.” Isaac turned to the LENS. “Cephalie?”

“You rang?” She appeared seated atop the drone.

“Do you have Consul Muntero’s connection string?”

“Sure do! Want me to schedule an interview?”

Isaac gave the artificial person before him a disapproving look.

“Perhaps it would be best if I handled this one.”

* * *

Clara Muntero accepted the meeting invitation, and they headed for her temporary office aboard Hammerhead-Prime.

The long, sleek vessel was almost three times the mass of the older Pioneer-class chronoports and sixty percent heavier than the Aion-class TTVs. Its bow narrowed and flared to either side, forming a pair of thick malmetal wings that gave the craft its distinctive profile and had undoubtedly led to its aquatic namesake. Four heavy weapons bristled from the wings: two high-energy proton lasers and two 240mm railguns. The fuselage expanded toward the rear to accommodate space for four powerful fusion thrusters.

Isaac and Susan passed through the security checkpoints and followed virtual arrows up the ramp and through the hold. They found Muntero in one of the spare quarters normally reserved for passengers or mission-specific personnel. A small desk protruded from the wall, flanked by a pair of seats fixed to the floor. A virtual document hung on the wall, and his wetware translated the title as YANLUO RESTRICTIONS. A door at the back led to what Isaac assumed would be her sleeping arrangements.

“Investigator Cho, welcome!” Muntero stood up with a smile and extended her hand. “Or should I call you Detective?”

“Either is fine.” He accepted her soft, moist handshake. “I’m currently working in both capacities, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Of course. And Agent Cantrell. A pleasure to meet you as well.”

“Consul.” Susan shifted past Isaac in the cramped room and shook the woman’s hand.

“I get the impression you’re familiar with us,” Isaac said.

“Not so much you two specifically as the exchange program in general.” Her eyes twinkled. “It’s a fine example of collaboration done right, if you ask me. A nice and safe avenue for progress.”

“I’m pleased to hear you say that.” He gestured to the desk. “Shall we get started?”

“Certainly.”

Muntero took one of the seats, and Isaac sat down across from her. Susan remained standing behind him.

“Now.” Muntero settled back and knitted her fingers over her stomach. “How can I help you?”

Isaac had debated how best to approach the interview, much as he had with Peng. Muntero didn’t invoke the same level of concern, since her position in the Admin gave her no easy way to retaliate against him, but that wasn’t the whole picture. He also had to be mindful of Susan’s position and how vulnerable it could prove should Muntero retaliate against her.

Ultimately, he’d decided to keep to the same truthful, factual approach. It seemed the best way to avoid any unnecessary drama, of which there appeared to be plenty already on the station.

“Some questions have been raised about your decisions after the bombing and Shigeki’s temporary death, and I thought it best to clarify them with you in person. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Let me guess.” She quirked a smile. “Someone whined that I’m using the attack as an excuse to impede this harebrained project.”

“Something along those lines.”

“Then let me make one thing perfectly clear.” Her smile broadened. “I am.”

Isaac blinked, her directness taking him by surprise. “Would you mind clarifying that statement?”

“Not at all. I think the Providence Project is a bad idea. Have from the start. Where others see a research outpost to explore and understand the transverse, I see a fever dream composed of reckless ambition and ignorant hope. It’s a balloon we’ve pumped full of happy thoughts and optimism. Better hope it doesn’t float into a pin.”

“That seems . . . rather negative.”

“Do you know what’s one of the first things I did when we learned about SysGov? Even before I was appointed as our ambassador?”

“I don’t.”

“I got my hands on some of your history books.” She spread her hands. “They were easy enough to come by. Our SysGov visitors were more than happy to share that sort of information, and I went to work reading them. You know what I found?”

“What did you find?”

“Similarities in the strangest places. Sure, anyone can spot all the obvious differences between our two peoples—and our two histories—but what struck me most were the similarities. We had our Yanluo Massacre, and you had your Near Miss. An AI that slaughtered billions, and an industrial accident that, if left unchecked, would have consumed the entire surface of Earth. Two formative events that, while very different in the details, led to similar conclusions.”

“That being?”

“Both our societies gained a sense of caution from those experiences. We learned to approach the unknown with small, careful, measured steps. To not rush blindly forward because an idea sounds good. But alas, all lessons, no matter how much grief accompanies them, eventually fade from our collective, societal memory. Yanluo terrorized us over two centuries ago, and your Near Miss happened over five hundred and fifty years ago. More than enough time for our societies to grow complacent.

“But then came new reminders. The Gordian Knot, the Dynasty Crisis, and others. All we have to do is gaze out across the transverse to see the wreckage of human hubris. Wastelands galore, be they nuclear, nanotech, chronometric, or some other self-inflicted disaster. So much death and destruction that I’m amazed more people don’t realize this simple truth.”

“And what truth might that be?”

“That we—the Admin and SysGov—are the exceptions. We’re the societies that survived.” Muntero’s eyes grew dark. “And we must remain vigilant if we are to stay that way.”

Isaac let Muntero’s position sink in and felt a looming shadow of existential dread creep over him. He didn’t often think on this scale. He faced far more intimate, personal problems in his line of work, and considered it his job to try and make the worlds a better place one arrest at a time.

Is this what it feels like to work in Gordian Division? he thought. To feel like everything I know and love is a hop and a skip away from total obliteration? If so, I don’t think I like it.

“Then you admit to using Shigeki’s temporary death to slow down the project?”

“I do,” Muntero replied. “We have a saying back home. ‘Never let a crisis go to waste.’ I don’t mind being despised if my efforts lead not only to a better tomorrow, but to a tomorrow at all.”

“Then you believe the Providence Project is an example of everyone rushing forward?”

“Absolutely! And not just when it comes to technology.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m referring to the Chief Executor’s Million Handshake Initiative.” She gave her head a little shake and rolled her eyes. “The Chief Executor and I have had a number of . . . spirited debates, shall we say, concerning his reforms. Societies can’t change overnight. Not when you want those changes to last. But he and the bulk of his cabinet seem to think all we have to do is let SysGov and Admin culture blend together. That this’ll somehow magically lead to us inheriting the best parts of both, instead of the worst.”

“Such as?”

“I’ll give you one example. Guest lectures by SysGov professors in Admin universities have proven to be immensely popular, facilitated by the Million Handshake Initiative. But not all of them go well. Some of them degenerate into anti-Admin tirades, like that AI, Doctor Xenophon. You know what he called the Admin during one of his lectures?”

“What?”

“‘A cancer on the multiverse that needs to be excised.’ Can you believe that? The nerve! ‘Burn it all down,’ he said. ‘Let something better rise from the ashes.’ Good grief! I’m glad we kicked his virtual ass back across the transverse!”

Susan winced, drawing Isaac’s eye.

“And you know what the worst part is?” Muntero continued, her voice increasing in volume with each sentence. “There are universities trying to get him back! I swear, bad ideas are like viruses sometimes!”

“Consul.”

“It’s all been a complete disaster, if you ask me. Those lectures just feed into a new crop of AI liberation groups, which then cause us even more trouble. Everyone’s in this mad scramble to become ‘just like them’ when they don’t even realize what that means!”

“Consul Muntero.”

“What’s the rush? Where’s the fire? Why are we all in a hurry to do everything all at once?”

Isaac cleared his throat noisily.

“I—” Muntero stopped, and the small room suddenly became very quiet. She gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that, Detective.”

“Perhaps it would be best if we moved on to my next question.”

The rest of the interview proved equally unproductive.

* * *

Gilbert called a few hours later, and they headed for the executive cafeteria underneath Operations. They found him seated at one of the long tables, busily scarfing down a gyro wrap.

“Mmm!” He set the gyro down and held an apologetic hand up as he chugged his glass of water. “That was fast. I thought I’d have time for a quick bite.”

“What do you have for us?” Isaac asked as he sat down, switching to security chat.

“Good news.” Gilbert transferred several files to Isaac’s case folder. “The bomb was delivered by a HeavyLift conveyor drone, LT5-pattern. Standard construction equipment. There are over a hundred of them moving through the station right now. Kikazaru caught this one entering and exiting the corridor. He couldn’t spot the bomb on it—which isn’t surprising since it was shrouded—but something else drew his attention. The drone left the way it came, even though there wasn’t any work scheduled in that area. So, he started digging.

“He backtracked the drone to a CounterGravCorp vessel named the Charm Quark. It’s still outside the station and couldn’t run if it wanted to, since it needs a scaffold for transport. I was working through another ship’s printers at the time, but this looked promising enough for me to drop that and switch over. And wouldn’t you know it, I found signs their printing records have been altered. A lot of signs.”

“Then you believe the bomb was printed on Charm Quark?”

“I do. Like I said, right now all I have is a lot of suspicious signs.” Gilbert tapped his plate and half-eaten gyro. “I’ll try to narrow it down to a specific printer once I’m refueled. After that, it’s just a matter of tearing it apart, bit by bit.”

“Will you need a search warrant for that?” Susan asked.

“Not at this stage.” Gilbert made a circular gesture with one finger. “All the companies working here have construction contracts with SysPol, which come with an inspection clause. We’re allowed to poke through their records any time we want, and that includes the printers. Which is a good thing because that storm is still raging outside. Calling Argus Station is out of the question.”

“What about that construction drone?” Susan asked. “Where is it right now?”

“Back aboard the Quark.” Gilbert snorted. “Supposedly.”

“What do you mean ‘supposedly’?” Isaac asked.

“Kikazaru traced its path back there, but the ship is docked way below the hangar ring.” Gilbert pointed down with two fingers. “That part of the station has some spotty infostructure coverage. He couldn’t confirm the drone physically made it to the ship.”

“Then we need to find it.” Isaac turned to Susan. “We’ll ask Gordian for help hunting it down. The last thing we need is a compromised drone loose on the station, causing who-knows-what kind of mischief.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Gilbert said with a half smile. “And digging through its infosystem will give me another shot at establishing an evidence trail.”

“Exactly. About what time was the bomb dropped off?”

“Over six days ago. I can pull up the exact time stamp if you like.”

“That long ago?” Isaac asked.

“Why’s that a concern?” Susan asked.

“Because I thought the bombing might’ve been a reaction to recent events. A counterplay of sorts against Gordian’s search for where Reality Flux was taken. But the timing is way off. Six days is far too long.” Isaac sighed. “How many people passed through the corridor during that time?”

“Um.” Gilbert opened an interface and tabbed through it. “You want unique individuals or overall traffic?”

“Overall.”

“Give me a moment.” Gilbert tapped out a few commands, and the stone monkey appeared over his shoulder. “Okay, here we go. Between the moment the bomb was placed and when it eventually detonated, we have: one hundred fifty-five people heading toward the station center and one hundred fifty-seven people heading toward the hangars. Almost all of that traffic is Admin personnel.”

“When did Shigeki pass through during that window?”

“Just once at the very end.”

“And Noxon?”

“Three back-and-forth trips before the last one.”

“Then that’s another piece of evidence Shigeki was the intended target.”

“Maybe not,” Susan said. “What if the bomb was planted six days ago but armed much later? Perhaps in reaction to the search, just as you suggested?”

“Hmm.” Isaac grimaced. “You have a point there. Guess we really can’t say anything for certain yet. Gilbert, solid work. Keep at it and let us know if you need any support.”

“Will do.”

“Susan, I think it’s time you and I had a chat with Gordian about their suspicious contractor.” He bobbed his head toward the exit. “Shall we?”

“Let’s.”

 

 



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